The Tyrant's Compulsion to Demolish Us

On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise. Now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners. Master Hindley shouted our chaplain, mister Commida, Miss Kathy's riv'n the back of the helmet of salvation,. on Heathcliff's paws did fit into first part of broad way to destruction. I took my dingy volume by the scroop and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. And so comforted we each sought a separate nook to awake his advent.